


Dearly Departed

by AnotherMHFan



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Depression, Derealization, Hallucinations, M/M, Suicide, spoilers for the end of MH
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-25
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2019-04-07 18:55:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherMHFan/pseuds/AnotherMHFan
Summary: Tim wants to believe Brian is still there with him. Sometimes it’s as though he never left.





	Dearly Departed

**Author's Note:**

> apparently I have trouble writing anything that is actually happy, so catch me back on my bullshit with a depressed and suicidal Tim. Sorry I can't do nice fluff for the boys, I guess I enjoy their pain

He never knew where he was going or why. It was only necessary for him to move forward, keep driving, walking, sleeping, breathing, _living_. He had to. Not for himself, no, he gave up on himself a while ago. He could never find a reason for a masked freak like him to keep going on, not when he had hurt so many. He'd done nothing but destroy the ones he loves—no, loved.

They were gone now. Everyone. And he was left here still.

His hand quivered as it held a cheap cigarette between those tanned fingers, dirt buried deep under his nails. Couldn't ever wash the grime away, no, it clung to him like it belonged there. Any time he did manage to wash himself clean, it was only a matter of time before the dirt and blood showed up again, reminding him who he truly was. It was a part of him, whether he wanted it to be or not.

The sun was setting, but it wasn't as beautiful as it used to be. He watched it through a dusty windshield, with splattered flies posing as the clouds. He'd parked the car, just to watch the sun go down and capture this last beautiful moment. For old times’ sake. For _him_.

He remembered when sunsets meant the end of a perfect day, when they told him everything was going to be okay. When the colors were vibrant and rich, and how they would gradually blend into a whirlwind of reds and yellows, blues and purples, and every other shade between. When the air smelled sweet like summer rain with a hint of strawberries, reminding him that it was okay to stop and breathe for a while. When Tim could hear **_him_** laughing in his ear, hands overlapped and there was no beginning anymore, no end, simply the two of them, together, and-

 _No_. Tim wrenched himself from the memory. _No, not anymore. He was dead_.

 ** _Dead_**.

What's the point of reminiscing when it only brought him pain and sorrow? There was nothing Tim could do to change the outcome. He knew that. He knew it was impossible to save any of them, to fix his mess, and yet, it still pained him daily. Thinking rationally, he needed to move on. It had been years. He knew that and it was what made sense. Let them go, let it all go, and keep moving. But despite what was logical, he knew that deep inside there was no way he could ever leave the past and leave _him_ behind.

It had crossed his mind more than once to join them—the dead. End it all and leave behind nothing but a rusty car and a half-empty pack of Marlboros to his name. He had no living relatives he was aware of, nor did he have any friends. It seemed everyone he had ever loved had left him in this world, alone, and waited patiently for him to join them in the next.

He asked himself, so many times, why he still kept moving. With everything that had happened, it was only a matter of time before he drank one bottle too many, or “accidentally” took too many pills. What difference would it make if he was there to see tomorrow?

And so he thought, why not give in? He had no purpose. No use. No one to love or to miss him when he was gone (though there had been a time when he would have missed Tim). He was a broken cog in the machine of life and society, unable to connect to normalcy (no matter how hard he tried, he would never be ordinary). He would _**always**_ be an outsider. It would make no difference if he did die, as the wheel of life would still go on, uncaring, without him. Wouldn't it?

His eyes strayed to the rear view mirror, where the plastic orange bottle sat on the backseat. It was the easiest way to go by far. He wouldn't feel much, and he’d go quietly, not even aware of when it would happen. One moment he’d be breathing, sleeping, and the next, he wouldn’t. After all he had done, the least he could do was keep something like Marble Hornets from happening again and destroy the last piece that kept the awful film together; that being himself.

It's what Alex wanted, wasn’t it; to save the rest of the world by killing the cast and crew of the movie? Tim never believed that it would work, but now, knowing the outcome of the series, he felt differently. Maybe Alex was right. This… this was all his fault. He deserved to die. Didn’t he?

He tossed the cigarette butt out the window and put his head to the steering wheel, letting out a shaky breath. No, he couldn't do it. Even if he wanted it, even if it was the rational thing to do, Tim still couldn't bring himself to end it all. He was too weak. He couldn't even do the _**right thing**_ , not now, not back when Alex told him to. Would it have made any difference then? Would it make a difference now?

A sharp inhale and he brought himself up, eyes closed tightly as he tried to shake himself from the thoughts. No. He can't think about _them_ , can't think about what happened, about anything concerning that damned YouTube series. Life, death, it shouldn't matter to him. There was no point in thinking and feeling, not when it only hurt him. What _did_ matter was to keep moving forward. Keep going. Keep driving. There wasn't a beginning, there wasn't an end. Just Tim, his car, and his cigarettes; nothing more and nothing less.

He gazed out at the sun, which had become a hazy orange that cascaded over the horizon and into his dusty car. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught something besides dust particles and asbestos stirring, something Tim knew shouldn’t, couldn’t, be there. It was impossible. _**He**_ was impossible.

And Tim found himself staring not at the sun, but at a different sort of beauty. Someone he thought he would never see again.

They had soft lips and an even softer soul, with eyes that held the stars inside of them; green oceans with little gold explosions that mesmerized Tim and begged him to never look away. The beams caught his jaw and the little dimples on his cheeks from that beaming smile, the one that was always flawless, always warm and forgiving, even after all this time. He was perfect in every way imaginable, which was to say, in every way Tim was not. The one piece of Tim’s life he thought was truly good; a piece he thought he had lost.

Hot thick tears forced their way to Tim's eyes and he found himself unable to swallow, to speak, to do anything other than take _**him**_ in. Every part of Tim screamed to tear his gaze away from the specter beside him and to face reality. Because Tim knew he wasn't really here, that he was nothing more than a mirage or dream brought on by Tim's shattered mind. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, but it was never with _him_.

Brian was **dead**. He knew that, knew that he was staring at the impossible and knew perfectly well that he wasn't real. But he kept looking anyways, drinking him in as though he would never see him again.

Finally, after centuries, his eyes fell and he let out a choked sob, words thick and heavy in his throat. "Y-You’re not r-real."

Brian laughed that high clear laugh that he always did, leaving a ringing in Tim’s ears like a not-so-distant memory. It told him that maybe Brian really was here, that maybe this had merely been one long and unforgiving nightmare. His words were softer than honey, dripping on his ears.

"Look at me."

Tim knew that if he did, he wouldn’t be able to pull himself away again. But he had to listen to that mellow voice, the one that sounded like a warm spring day, the one that used to coo softly to Tim at night, the one that told him everything was going to be okay so long as they were together.

Against his better judgment, he peeled his eyes away from the floor and up towards those gentle eyes.

The glow of the setting sun had passed behind his head now, illuminating him from behind as though he were a light source all on his own. His expression was, if possible, softer than before, and he had that look on his face that Tim recognized all too well. It was the look that told him Brian was worried about him. That Brian knew about the razors and the pills and the nightmares and every other part of Tim that he just wanted to bury. Tim felt shame and guilt writhe in his stomach over the thoughts he had before, knowing that Brian was all too aware of those as well.

"You can’t do it. You can’t give up now." Tim wasn’t listening to his words but to his voice, savoring it as though he’d never hear Brian again. "Tim, we’ve talked about this… You’ve got so much to live for. You-"

Tim cut him off and shook his head, whispering "no" softly. How could he keep indulging himself in this? Brian was **dead**. This wasn’t real, _he_ wasn’t real, and Tim had to stop this before he lost himself in the past. Keep moving forward, that was his only focus. Yet here he was, doing the exact opposite.

Brian’s eyebrows scrunched up together in confusion, a little hurt Tim had stopped him. He searched Tim’s eyes and Tim felt as though he was looking straight through him and analyzing not his face, but his soul. "You have me, remember? I’ll always be here for you, you know that…"

Tim’s lower lip quivered and he shook his head again. More tears bubbled up and fell down his cheeks, unable to stop them. "Brian…"

He smiled warmly at the sound of his name and leaned closer to Tim, letting a gentle hand reach for his cheek. Tim was surprised to feel him touch his skin, and even more surprised to discover how warm and tender the contact was. He shuddered, closing his eyes and leaned in, silently pleading for Brian to bring him closer. Something inside of Tim shattered, and he suddenly realized how starved he was for something as simple as human contact. His heart begged for Brian to hold him, to envelope himself in the soft smell of pine needles and summertime, to _never let go_.

Tim used every ounce of strength and willpower he had and put his hand on Brian’s and lowered it. No. No, Brian wasn’t here, he wasn’t real.

Brian squeezed Tim’s hand gently, in a way that told him he knew exactly what Tim was thinking. "What’s wrong?"

Tim knew exactly what he had to say, but knowing what he had to do and what he wanted to do were two different things entirely. He had seen some of the others before; the dead. He knew they weren’t real, but the passing reflection of Alex’s glasses or a flash of Sarah’s hair always caught him off guard. It was Jay he saw the most of however. They rarely spoke, just staring at each other and Tim had never gotten close to him, merely staring into those marbled eyes from afar. Jay’s specter had appeared in bathroom mirrors and down long forgotten halls, close but never enough to let Tim reach out. But Brian…

Every part of him seemed tangible and tender, as though he would never leave. He could see a soft pulse in his neck, could feel the warmth of his hand, and could hear the soft exhale through his nose. Brian was _**here**_ , and very much so. Wasn’t he?

But Tim knew that the vision wouldn’t last much longer, they never did. Yet he couldn’t let Brian go, he couldn’t let him to leave. It had been so long since he had seen his face, _so_ _damn long_ , and he never had the chance to truly love Brian as he should have. The two of them, they simply could never be.

Tim’s whole body shook as he prepared the two words to fall off his tongue, heart screaming _Don’t leave me_ , over and over. _I need you Brian, please_.

But his mind was not his heart.

"You’re…"

Something seemed to switch in Brian’s eyes, the soft edges fading away as a knowing look crossed his face again. Except this time, it was coupled with a bit of confusion, worry. Brian knew something was wrong just as much as Tim did. The light gradually lowered on the horizon and Brian’s whole figure grew darker, cast in grey. His eyes faded and drooped, and his shoulders seemed to sink a little, like he was preparing for a blow to come. He knew before Tim even said it.

"… _ **dead**_."

A wry smile caused the corners of his mouth to turn up slightly, as though he was very aware of the fact. He stared at Tim for a moment, letting the words sink and bury themselves deep into his gut before chuckling softly. A bubble of a laugh, causing him to shudder ever so slightly and that’s when Tim saw it.

The blood.

It came somewhere from his hair, running down his forehead and out from his nose like a scarlet syrup, painfully slow, and it was enough to remind Tim that a two story fall wouldn’t kill someone instantly, not if they landed the right way. It would have been agonizing, knowing they were going to die but never knowing when. Waiting, alone, as hours passed and they screamed silently for someone to end it, mouth twisted and begging but no one would ever come.

  
That—that was what Tim did to Brian. That was how he showed his love for him. By bringing him to this, by watching him fall and not doing a _damned thing_.

Tim tried to reason with himself over and over that he didn’t know, and that even if he did, he didn’t have a choice. The Brian he loved had been missing for years; how was he to know Brian was the man with the hood? But then again, hadn’t Tim brought him to that state as well? Not only had he killed the only man he had ever loved, but he had gifted him with years of loneliness and the gradual loss of his mind, letting him live in constant state of paranoia and fear until... until he fell.

 _I didn’t know_ , his consciousness tried to say. _I would never hurt him, I_ \- Oh, but Tim did hurt him, in every way imaginable. And now he was _**dead**_.

Tim was shaken from his thoughts as he heard that quiet laugh again, though it sounded forced now, like he couldn’t quite get the sound to come from his throat. Blood gushed past his teeth now, staining them yellow and Tim watched as the dark fluid dripped down his chin and to the front of his shirt. He shook ever so slightly, and the strength and confidence he normally exuded, the charisma that made Brian _Brian_ , vanished; now he seemed fragile, like he was breaking apart before Tim’s eyes.

He gazed at Tim as though Tim was the one who wasn’t quite real, as if Tim was someone he had simply made up. It was the same look Tim gave to Brian, the same longing drowned in sadness and confusion. But underneath all of it there was the smallest, most minuscule hint of betrayal in those green eyes, wondering how Tim of all people could bring him to this state.

A word quivered and danced on Brian’s lips painfully before he whispered those thoughts aloud.

"Why?"

Tim felt the word hit his gut like a bullet. He didn’t know what Brian was asking and at the same time, he did. Why did Tim keep him in the dark about his past and the monster? Why hadn’t Tim gone looking for him when he disappeared so long ago? Why hadn’t Tim understood the cryptic messages that begged for his help, the ones that screamed for Tim to understand the Hooded man and Brian were one in the same? _Why_? Why did Tim leave him to die, alone and confused, bleeding out for an eternity with a broken spine and a shattered skull? Why, why, _**why**_?

Didn’t Tim care for him at all? Or was he just another piece of Tim’s past that needed to be thrown away, forgotten and abandoned?

Tim knew that Brian would never think any of those things; he only sought understanding at best, and would never hold Tim accountable for what happened. It was Tim’s mind that let him run off with the statement, perverting his memory of Brian and casting doubt into everything he did. But then, wasn’t his brain also the very reason why he could see Brian now, giving him another chance to say goodbye?

His thoughts were a very conflicted place.

He wanted to break down and apologize for everything that had happened, because out of anyone, Brian deserved this the least. But he couldn’t. The words stuck in the back of his throat like some invisible force was choking him from the inside out. Suffocating in his shame, the guilt taking over his nervous system until every little twitch he made was controlled by remorse and remorse only.

Those green eyes seemed to droop, knowing they couldn’t stay open much longer. The stars inside them faded, swept away by cosmic dust and storms that left them near lifeless. The corners of his mouth twitched once, twice, and then they spread in the faintest smile, enough to remind Tim again of the innocence he had snuffed out and murdered. If Brian was a light, then Tim was surely his extinguisher.

He couldn’t feel the weight of Brian’s hand on his anymore. He knew Brian wasn’t real, and that he needed to accept Brian was long gone but it didn’t stop the ache in his heart any less. _Please don’t leave me_ , it cried again. _I don’t want to be alone_.

Ever so softly, Tim could hear three delicate words spill from his mouth, barely audible. Three words Brian had told Tim over a million times, three words that Tim thought he would never hear again.

" _I love you_."

And that was the last time Tim would hear his voice.

All good things must come to an end. That was simply how life worked, especially for Tim. Brian was **gone** , and his absence created a void in Tim that took every ounce of strength and willpower he had left.

He put his head on the steering wheel and sobbed, a gross sob that left his chest heaving and his eyes swollen, all the while reminding himself that he could never escape his past, no matter how hard he ran from it. Tim was nothing more than a hollow shell of a man, filled with nicotine and ashes, left to burn out whatever pitiful life he has left in dingy motels and stolen cars.

A small thought, a reoccurring one, stuck to him and clung to him carefully. It feigned as rational and Tim was more than willing to listen to it. _Brian is dead_ , it said. _Tim wants to be with Brian. Tim wants to be happy_ , it crooned. A pause followed.

 _ **Tim should join Brian**_.

Some sort of protest formed in his mind but he pushed it down. No, he needed to listen to this. It was the only solution Tim had left, the only way to truly fix the mess he had created. He just wanted to love and be loved. So why not? Why not give in, why not be with him again? There was nothing stopping him, and all of the counter-arguments he had against it prior seemed so silly now. The answer, the end to his struggle and eminent suffering was quite clear now.

They’d be together again and Tim, for once in his miserable life, would be happy. Death wasn’t such a bad thing, now was it? A minor obstacle, a thin veil separating him from Brian.

And it wouldn’t be that hard to pass through it.


End file.
